


the sweat of your body (covers me)

by AvaRosier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke's college-age, F/M, Modern AU, does going to the gym count as bdsm?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Emma, who prompted me Clarke/Lincoln + teacher/student. Here, have a mouthy Clarke going to personal trainer Lincoln and getting some specialized attention.</p><p>and yes, the title is part of my ongoing effort to write a bunch of smutfics with titles that come from Prince lyrics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sweat of your body (covers me)

 

Clarke wrestled her way into her second sports bra and was breathing heavily by the time she pulled her exercise top on over it all. She ignored the real reason why she’d sprung for nicer, color-coordinated workout clothes and wriggled her way into her new cross trainers. Keeping an eye on the clock, she sighed.

“Torture time. Yay.”

It wasn’t that she thought she looked awful or anything and she adored food too much to cut back on her favorites. But when her friends were constantly showing off their six-packs and ripped biceps, she started thinking she could do with a bit of toning up. Given how nonexistent her motivation was, a personal trainer was her best bet. Except Lincoln, who’d seemed like a relatively laid back guy when she’d talked to him the first time, had turned out to be an utter  _sadist_.

Clarke made the drive over to the gym with minutes to spare before her appointment. Lincoln was sat in front of one of the mirrors with his earbuds in, doing bicep curls with a dumbbell that probably weighed more than Clarke did. She came to a stop in front of him and waited for him to finish and notice her.

Her belly absolutely did not flutter when he raised his head and smiled at her. Even his eyes smiled at her. What did Tyra call it, ‘smizing’?

“Clarke.”

“Hey. I’m ready to beg for death.” She let her bag drop next to his and awaited his first direction. Lincoln sighed and set the dumbbell back on the rack before coming to stand before her. She had to crane her head back just to look up at him; the man had to be eight or nine inches taller than her.

“Well if I can get you to that point at least twice in the next hour and half, then we’ll know you’re getting an effective workout.” He quipped. Clarke glared up at him. “Let’s start with a warm-up, then lunges.”

For the next forty-five minutes, Lincoln walked her through intervals of cardio (yuck!) and toning moves with weights. Then he made her do side planks and the dreaded side plank crunches.

“Five…Four…Three…Two…One…Ten more, Clarke!”

“No. You said twenty crunches. I did twenty crunches, I can’t be held liable when you lie to me!” She argued, sweating unattractively while her face reddened from the effort of keeping her body up. Lincoln was unmoved.

“Ten…nine…”

“Ugh.” She twisted her torso down towards the floor. Then she had to do the same for her other side.

“Let’s work those legs of yours next,” Lincoln announced when she was a panting heap on the mat.

“Five minute break?” She asked plaintively, fantasizing about buying the most enormous, most greasy pizza afterwards just to spite him. Clarke hated working out, she really did. And she made sure to be very vocal about it, even if her barbs never seemed to bother Lincoln.

He got her started on the leg press and gradually added more weight until she was huffing and straining to push the bar out. When she started half-assing it, he started upping her reps. “Ten…nine…eight…that’s it. Fifteen…fourteen…”

“Fuck you,” she growled.

She’d asked him about it once. “ _Whatever you need to say to get yourself through it_.” He’d shrugged.

Clarke had to admit he was right. So she needed to be able to whine and bitch about it in order to make it through the session without quitting; at least Lincoln ignored the concerned looks the other gym patrons gave him when she subjected him to verbal abuse.

With fifteen minutes to go, Lincoln let her lie down on the mat in order to do partner leg throwdowns. Which had Clarke gaping up at him. “I can barely feel my fucking legs, Lincoln.” Her abdomen and legs felt like limp noodles.

“That’s okay.” Lincoln conceded, surprising her. “I know you’re not as disciplined as some of my other clients—“ That did it.

Clarke grabbed his ankles and glared daggers up the long line of Lincoln’s body, summoning up whatever last reserves she had to raise her feet up towards his stomach. Honestly, she was aiming to kick him, but Lincoln batted away her legs with very little effort, sending them crashing back onto the mat.

“Again.”

“I hate you!”

“That’s nice. Again!”

“ _HNNNNHHHHH_!!!”

 

 

The end of their session couldn’t come fast enough. Clarke was pretty sure she was red-faced, sweaty and completely stinky. Just because their session was over didn’t mean she could just walk away right now. Nope, the last thing they did every time was a series of wind-down stretching. As brutal as working out with Lincoln was, it was the stretches that Clarke considered the worst.

Lincoln kneeled down before her on the mat and placed her foot on his shoulder, slowly lowering his torso towards hers. Clarke’s heart was pounding for an entirely different reason, and she cursed how hot he still looked with only a slight sheen of sweat on him. She moaned softly as her thigh muscles were stretched out. He managed to get her leg inches away from her head.

This position was eerily close to the position they were in last weekend when they fucked.

She hadn’t gone out that night thinking she’d hook up with her personal trainer, but then Lincoln had been there at the art crawl and she’d been surprised to discover they had much more in common. They’d never shared much about their personal lives when in the gym, and it was like they were strangers meeting for the first time. Then there’d been wine at a nearby bar…and they’d discussed a shared love for motorcycles and a fascination with tattoos as an art form.

It’d all ended at his place, Clarke with her skirt hiked up, grinding away happily on his lap.  Lincoln had just moved her underwear out of the way, unzipped himself and rolled on the condom, then let her ride him at a slow, sensual, and rolling rhythm with him lightly thumbing her clit. She’d say one thing: all those core exercises he had made her do meant ah- _mazing_  orgasms. And then he’d gotten her on her back on his bed, like this.

Clarke’s breathing grew more shallow and the low thrum of arousal started to spread through her pelvis. She saw Lincoln’s eyes become more hooded, his pupils widening as he glanced down at her lips then back up into her eyes. He was remembering, too. She glanced around nervously then, conscious of how they were technically in public and at his work where there was most certainly a policy against trainers having a sexual relationship with their clients.

Lincoln got the hint and backed up. He didn’t lower himself over her to stretch her other leg this time. Five minutes later, Clarke was groaning as she rolled over and up onto her feet, waddling like an old woman. “I think I’m going to be feeling that one for two weeks.”

Lincoln snorted. “Since you see me next Tuesday, you’re out of luck, Clarke.” She smiled as she waved goodbye to him and grabbed her bag, heading towards the showers.

They hadn’t really talked about it. The sudden, intense connection. The mind-blowing sex. All they’d done the next morning was agree that they shouldn’t let this get in the way of her training; after all, if she dropped Lincoln, she’d be stuck with Anya who would be way worse.

Clarke sighed as she stepped under the spray of water, wetting her hair down to wash the sweat out of it. Her body ached, and she found herself shifting her weight from foot to foot to give herself scant momentary relief. The persistent throb of desire between her thighs had her fingers drifting along her lower belly, flirting with the line of her pubic hair, as she considered getting herself off right there in the empty ladies’ locker room. Not many people came to this gym on a Thursday night and—

“Clarke?” Lincoln’s throaty voice called from the other side of the curtain. Clarke froze and waited for him to continue.

“Yeah?”

“I’m worried I didn’t stretch you out properly. If I didn’t, I could finish the job right now.” That was a lousy excuse, lousy enough she took the hint. Peeking down under the curtain, she saw that Lincoln wasn’t wearing shoes and she wondered just how naked he was right now. And yeah, she wanted this. Clarke pulled the curtain open and backed up so Lincoln could enter the stall. She got such a thrill from standing there naked before him, and he was a feast for her eyes too—wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist.

He took up so much space in the stall and Clarke could feel the water sluicing over her back and her butt as Lincoln pulled the curtain shut and reached out for her. She went to him, raising up onto her tippity toes to kiss him. She wasted no time deepening the kiss, scraping her teeth along his bottom lip before soothing the sting with her tongue.

Lincoln backed her up against the side of the stall and lowered himself to his knees. Clarke just knew what was coming and she eagerly spread her feet wide enough for him to fit his shoulders in between. He spread her lips open and licked a long stripe all the way up to her clit. Clarke let out a shuddering moan and her hands scrambled backwards for the top of the stall, clinging to it to keep from sliding to the floor.

She needn’t have worried, Lincoln was all but holding her up with his shoulders, his hands on her ass, his mouth…

Clarke allowed herself to go blank, to be nothing more than the building pleasure between her legs, rocking against Lincoln’s tongue as it zeroed in on her clit. He alternated between rapid flicks and closing his lips over the hood of her clit and suckling. It wasn’t long before Clarke’s calf muscles were screaming from the effort of holding herself in that position and thankfully, Lincoln shifted so he could slide one, then two fingers into her vagina.

Clarke clenched around them and rocked against the steady rhythm of his tongue, pleasure building bright and hot until she spilled over, trembling as the spasms spent themselves into Lincoln’s mouth. He continued to finger her and tongue her through her orgasm, at one point holding her up all by himself, until she whimpered, “no more” and pushed against his smooth head.

When Lincoln rose and sat himself down on the narrow bench near the curtain, Clarke followed, feeling utterly sated. She reached out and undid the knot keeping his towel together. His erection was already near full-force and the head bobbled unsteadily millimetres from his toned abdomen. The bench was narrow, but Clarke could fit her knees there, on either side of Lincoln’s hips as she lowered herself and used his thighs as a seat. The coarse hairs tickled her bottom.

She kissed him once, and tasted herself before sitting back and gripping his cock. Lincoln gave nothing away except a soft inhalation as he curved his large hands around her upper arms, rubbing them. Clarke slid her fist slowly up and down, feeling the hardness even below the shift of skin. She started twisting, swiping her thumb up over the vee on the underside of the head and was rewarded with Lincoln’s eyelids fluttering shut. He made a valiant effort to open them again, to keep watching her, touching her with his hands. She gripped him harder and sped up, noticing the cracks in his stoic veneer; his abdominal muscles were starting to clench and she could feel the jerk of thigh muscles underneath her.

It was of no concern to her. She was in control now; eventually, she would make him shatter.


End file.
